Shelley Lee Riley's Blog: https://shelleyleeriley.com/my-thoughts/

Distraction, singular, is loosely defined as a thing that prevents someone from giving full attention to something else. Make it plural, distractions, and now you have me. Admittedly, I am easily distracted. However, I am always open to a new challenge. Something that would be difficult to achieve. For a woman from the suburbs to find a horse that could be competitive against the best two and three-year-olds in the world, it should be at the top, at least, on my list of unobtainable challenges. And history answers that question of the unattainable. When you take on a challenge, and it gets hard . . . very simply put, you have only two choices: give up or try harder. I’d like to say I always try harder, but I often embrace a third choice—distraction.

A very good friend of mine, George D. Cramer, publishes a blog highlighting a different author each week. He is booked out well into March of next year, and when the current writer still needed to send their responses to the list of questions George supplied, he asked if I could write something for the post. What I wrote follows and is a perfect introduction to my most recent publication.

Question: What is the most challenging part of your writing process?

My answer: Finishing.

When everything is covered in dust.

No, seriously, I’m a died-in-the-wool procrastinator. I have any number of ways to distract myself from the hard work that goes into finishing a novel. My first and most frequently employed method is writing the first sentence for a new story idea. Sometimes, I make it as long as an entire paragraph. On occasion, I’ll get as far as a few thousand words.

Therein lies the problem for me: some of those first lines are fleshed out enough to make the beginning of an intriguing story that needs to be written. So, what happens to them? They get stored away on my laptop in a file named Novel Ideas. There are currently twenty-one ideas wasting away in the wilderness of the Novel Idea folder, each collecting its layer of metaphorical dust. And who knows what tomorrow will bring? Ideas tend to strike at the most improbable times. I’ve been chewing on a new one since yesterday—Leopold.

Examples abound:

     First example:

Twelve bodies and no accountability! How could the justice system have gotten it so wrong? Detective Gideon Key, grizzled on a good day, sat at the back of the courtroom looking more like a vagrant than a decorated homicide detective.

Second example:

Unheeded, a shadow searches the night, darting through the crowds. The street lights fade, only to brighten upon its passing. However, the shadow doesn’t go unnoticed, for there is one who knows what to look for and hunts the hunter.

My newest ploy to distract from the current YA novel I have been working on for longer than I like to admit, represents a soirée into the highly competitive Children’s Picture Book arena. The following tale exemplifies how a distraction can get expensive and far faster than you might think.

First, I needed to write a story; fortunately, one already existed in the Novel Ideas folder. I took it out and dusted it off. Next, I needed to envision the characters, their appearance, and how each page would be laid out, i.e., cartoon, anime, or realistic. Now, the vision is ready to be rendered. Finding an illustrator should be easy. Right? Nope. I started with Fivver, where I’d found the artist I used for my middle-grade book, Labyrinth of Ruin. A Romanian student who was putting himself through college. It was a bit of a process, but it worked out in the end.

It soon became apparent that this twenty-one-page book with fourteen illustrations would cost between $850 and $2,500. Other sources quoted an illustration package costing between $4,000 and $60,000.

Well, that was an eye-opener. Undaunted and armed with a modicum of artistic talent along with a closet full of art supplies that had also been collecting dust, I gathered what I thought I would need and sat down to create some of the most beautiful and colorful cartoons that could catch the eye of any three-year-old. Almost immediately, as I sat staring at a blank white page, I found myself looking for a distraction. . . I found one: Procreate Illustrator, and it was only $12.99.

Great idea, right? I would do it all digitally, even though I’m a point-and-click kind of girl. Resolutely, I picked up my sixteen-year-old, first-generation iPad, which still occasionally works, and prepared to buy and download Procreate for iPad. However, it can’t be done; my iPad is so old that it’s only suitable for . . . you guessed it, collecting dust.

I would have to purchase a new iPad Air and all the accessories, including the Apple PencilPro, OtterBox iPad cover, and Procreate Illustrator for iPad. Let’s not forget the extended warranty and twenty-four-hour Apple support.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Spending money is the best distraction of all.

A week has passed, and I have rediscovered that my point-and-click aptitude needs vast improvement to conquer this challenging program.

I hope this distraction brought a smile to your face.

And a few weeks later, we have this:

I DID IT! I didn’t even call Apple Support. Though considerably longer than first envisioned, it looks great, and I am super chuffed. Take a look inside at Amazon. You can’t see the link right below, but it’s there. Give it a hover with your cursor, and it’ll pop up. Now you can see why creating this book was such an accomplishment on my part. I am not a techi.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DQ8MD1JH/

Once again, thanks for reading. Please don’t ignore your great ideas; act on them.

The post December 12, 2024 My Thoughts & New Challenges appeared first on Shelley Lee Riley.

Stepping away from my usual posting, I want to share with you an idea I’ve been toying with—a children’s picture book. Thus, the following story was created. Now, I’m looking for an illustrator, though I may try my hand with Procreate Art Studio and see what I can create with what little artistic talent I have.

So, let me know what you think—also, any suggestions you might have for illustrations. Also, what breed of dog? Dachshund, Corgi, or?

  Leopold

Leopold was a brown dog—a small brown dog with a long body, stubby legs, and a short tail. Every day, Leopold chased his short tail on the green grass in the shade of a tall tree in the backyard of the house where he lived.

Round and round, Leopold would run, chasing his short tail.

On a branch above, Leopold lounged, Clawdean—a ginger cat with golden eyes and a long tail. She would sit watching as Leopold went round and round in the green grass under the tree where she sat.

Donte, a bird with a round belly, a red breast, and a broad black tail, would balance on the branch above Clawdean. He twisted his head back and forth to watch Clawdean watch Leopold chase his tail round and round on the green grass.

On this day, near Donte, a caterpillar clung to a leaf. Isabeau, a bright orange caterpillar with long black spines and fuzzy yellow stripes, was using her numerous feet to inch along the leaf-covered stem. “Donte, why do you watch a cat watch a silly dog chase his tail round and round?”

Donte looked at Isabeau with one shiny black eye. “As long as the cat watches the dog chasing his tail, she won’t chase me.”

Story Isabeau crawled further along the branch. “Clawdean, why do you watch a dog chase a tail he’ll never catch?”

Clawdean eyed Isabeau and Donte. “When Leopold chases his tail, he won’t be chasing me.”

“Clawdean, you’re in a tree.” Isabeau wisely observed.

The cat twitched her long tail, “Isabeau if you were wise, you would watch too.”

Just then, a red-haired girl stepped from the house and called to Leopold. Too dizzy to come, Leopold plopped to his side on the green grass. Ginny laughed, sprinkled a handful of treats on the ground, and returned to the house.

Instantly, Clawdean jumped from the tree, scampered past a panting Leopold, and grabbed a treat before returning.

Donte soon followed, swooping past Leopold to grab his own treat, and flew back to his branch.

Leopold rolled over to see the cat and bird finish eating his treats. “Why do you eat a treat meant for a dog?” Leopold growled.

“Because I can,” Clawdean taunted Leopold, swishing her long tail.

“Because it’s fun,” Donte responded, spreading his tail feathers to run his beak over each shiny plume.

“Why would you chase a tail far too short to catch while others steal treats meant for you?” Isabeau called down to Leopold.

Leopold eyed the caterpillar. “I would ask why you would sit so close to a bird who eats worms?”

“I am a caterpillar, not a worm,” sniffed Isabeau. “But Leopold, wouldn’t it hurt if you were to catch your tail with your sharp teeth?”

Leopold pondered Isabeau’s question. “I didn’t think of that. How is it that you are so smart for a caterpillar?”

“Because I don’t have a tail.”

THE END

As always, thank you for taking the time to visit my site and reading my thoughts.

The post November 5, 2024 My Thoughts appeared first on Shelley Lee Riley.

This week, after a request from a follower, I decided to share my process when I’m asked to critique a chapter or scene from a manuscript. First, while I tend to be blunt rather than diplomatic, I will only critique those I’ve worked with for over a decade. My first read-through is to examine the plot, character development, and style. The idea is to help identify what’s working and what doesn’t. While I also look for opportunities to improve sentence structure and rewrite for clarity, it’s essential to include what you like, not just to find fault. So, let’s see how blunt I can be on a chapter from a short story I wrote years ago. While the story I wrote is complete fiction and a product of my imagination, it was initially inspired by a news report. I used screenshots so that you could see the way the markups look on a manuscript. Generally, there will be notations off to the right side of the document for the author. Naturally, it is optional here. Note: Words in Italics are the character’s internal thoughts.

Fatal Triangle

Finally, this is only the first scene of a relatively long short story. It will be part of a compilation I intend to publish next year. As you can see, I found room for improvement from the first draft; there are seventeen more pages and more massaging of the prose to come before it’s ready for publication. Here is the cover art for Undone.

 

Thanks again for stopping by. I’ll move back to horse racing memories next week. Comments and questions are always welcome.

The post October 25, 2024 My Thoughts appeared first on Shelley Lee Riley.

Why is the opening line of a book so important?

As a voracious reader, one of the best things with the advent of the internet was the explosion of reading material. And to say the variety of genres is endless would be an underestimation.

If you put your faith in the order books are listed on Amazon and other sites, you will miss some great works by independent authors and small presses. So, I love to search for lightly reviewed works in the genre I’m currently reading. How can one possibly get through all the works that catch your attention? Simply said, you can’t.

Though, there are a few things that I’ve found that work for me.

The cover art catches my eye, prompting my cursor to hover over the image for a closer look. It should tell me what the reader will find within the book’s pages. I will illustrate this with one of my book covers.

 

Here, we see a girl with long hair blowing in the wind. She’s probably young.

With her heading away from the viewer into a dark and scary forest, we’re left to think she’s probably running away from something or someone.

This raises the question: Why is she running, or what is she running from?

And there, backlit by the full moon, there’s a dragon!

 

The marketing blurb. Now that I’ve clicked on the thumbnail of the cover, the next most crucial element is that the marketing blurb should motivate me to look inside. Therefore, the phrasing should be relevant to the questions raised by the cover images. Let’s not forget that the elevator pitch isn’t just for agents.The opening line can be the most essential part of the entire book. This is where the reader will, in all likelihood, decide if they’ll continue or move on and look for something else. This is your opportunity. So, what should an opening line achieve?

Engage the reader to read the following line and ultimately keep turning pages. Generally, if I’m intrigued enough to reach the next page, I’ll click “Buy Now.”

What do I look for in a first line? Here’s an example of what would put me off. This first line comes from Grave Wrong by Kate Allenton:

                —Ryley stared out the window at the passing dark buildings where even the moonlight was afraid to venture.—

Let’s break it down; —Ryley stared out the window.— The author hasn’t specified where Ryley is looking out the window from; she could be anywhere—a store, her home, any place with a window, including a car.

Let’s continue; —Ryley stared out the window at the passing dark buildings.— Yikes, how fast were those buildings traveling? The sentence could be rewritten; —Ryley stared out the window as they passed a series of dark buildings.— This would fix both problems by making it obvious she was riding in a vehicle and they were passing dark buildings, not the other way around.

The final part of the sentence; —Where even the moonlight was afraid to venture.— I quite like that part of the sentence; it imparts a sense of danger. Unfortunately, because of the moving buildings, it doesn’t work. How’s this? —Ryley stared out the window as they passed a series of dark buildings, where even the moonlight feared to venture.—

Let me finish this section by saying that while this opening line put me off, the cover art and the marketing blurb kept me reading. I’m on book four in this series and have been thoroughly entertained.

While this may not be a perfect example of how an opening line can keep you, as an author, from making a sale, it was fun breaking down the first sentence.

Given that, it seems only fair that I discuss a new beginning I wrote for a novel I plan to co-author with a close friend.

                 Twelve bodies and no accountability! How could the justice system have gotten it so wrong? Detective Gideon Key, grizzled on a good day, sat at the back of the courtroom looking more like a vagrant than a decorated homicide detective.

Let’s break it down; —Twelve bodies and no accountability!—  Notice that this doesn’t end with a question mark. There’s a reason for this. As a statement, it imparts a sense of outrage to the reader. We’ve all experienced outrage, to some degree or another, during our lifetime.

The second sentence; —How could the justice system have gotten it so wrong?— This sentence ends with a question mark: why is that? Where’s the difference? Because it makes it personal and poses a question that must be answered over the fullness of time.

Moving on; —Detective Gideon Key, grizzled on a good day— introduces our main character and paints a picture, in part, of who he is without going into an overly long and ultimately dull description down to the color of the whiskers on his chinny chin chin.

Next; —sat at the back of the courtroom.— The reader is now placed in the scene; we all know what a courtroom looks like with the judge on high, twelve jurors, and lots of dark wood.

Finally; —looking more like a vagrant than a decorated homicide detective.— Again, this will tell the reader so much about who Gideon Key is. Grizzled suggests hard-boiled, maybe cynical. He looks like a vagrant, implying he’s not there to impress and doesn’t care what people think. As a decorated homicide detective tells us, he cares about getting justice for the victims.

Thanks for checking out my blog, and I look forward to hearing from you. Remember, I will never use or sell your information.

The post October 18, 2024 My Thoughts appeared first on Shelley Lee Riley.

What a fantastic response to my last post about the outstanding Quarter Horse gelding, Head Pin, and his trainer, Ron Hawkins. I want to thank everyone for their continued interest and the numerous requests for more information on Ron Hawkins himself; I found a comprehensive obituary in the Burns Times-Herald.

https://www.btimesherald.com/2017/07/19/ronald-william-hawkins-1937-2017/

Even after decades of friendship, I learned things about Ron that I hadn’t known. But then, Ron wasn’t one to toot his own horn.

While I knew he had attended Cal Poly and graduated with a degree in Animal Husbandry, I didn’t know he competed on the college rodeo team and was so good at it that he finished second in steer wrestling at the Intercollegiate Rodeo Association National Finals.

Along with the words, you’ll find a great picture of Ron that I think reflects the man’s true character. His good humor jumps off the page.

[image error]

Ron Hawkins — 1937 – 2017

Now, how about a memory? There are so many that involve Ron and Rexanne. But I suspect there are only a few, if any, who would know that Ron sent me an unstarted maiden Quarter Horse filly to train in the summer of 1979. At the time, we were stabled in Santa Rosa, awaiting the start of the Sonoma County Fair meet, and where I was lucky enough to have fifteen horses under my care with my new trainers’ license in hand. I had several promising horses, both veterans, and maidens and was looking forward to saddling my first starter.

It was back in the days when there were a lot of maidens, and getting into a race was brutal. Since Ron had so many maidens at the ranch with earlier entry dates, he felt his client would have a better chance of seeing the filly race if he sent her to me. The filly really blossomed in the racetrack environment, and long story short, Barbaretta Go was the first horse I saddled with my new license. As you can see, we won that day, and she did it pretty easily. I don’t know who was more pleased, me, Ron, or the client.

“Barbaretta Go”Santa Rosa, California              7/16/79            James Riley, UPTruly Boo, (2nd)               350 yards – 18:4           Howes Don, (3rd)Terry Cole, Owner                                        Shelley Riley, Trainer

Another anecdote I remember involved Ron and Jim long before Jim Riley and I met and we were married. As Ron told the story, he and Jim were working two young colts down the straightaway at the ranch. A sizeable lady in a voluminous moo-moo-like dress stood off to one side, observing. According to Ron, it was a windy day, and the wind caught the fabric of her dress as the two colts raced toward her. The horse Jim rode spooked violently, and off Jim went head first. Ron may have laughed as he told the story, but it was easy to see the memory was as affecting as the day it happened.

Ron sawed on his horse’s reins, and as he looked down, Jim’s body kept pace with Ron’s mount.

The bigger problem, and what still haunted Ron, was that Jim’s neck was bent so far under his body that it looked like he no longer had a head. Ron was sure that Jim was dead.

Suffice it to say Jim survived, and when he came around, he seemed none the worse for wear.

Ron, Rexanne, and the Hawkins family made a very positive impact on our lives for over twenty years. For one year or twenty, I count their friendship as a blessing.

Thank you for taking the time to stop by to read ‘My Thoughts.’ Get in touch, and I will respond. I will never sell your information.

The post October 11, 2024 Stories From the Backside appeared first on Shelley Lee Riley.

October 4, 2024  Stories from the Backside

While digging through stacks of old—very old—win pictures, a massive, nearly white Quarter Horse gelding kept popping up. Anybody who followed Northern California Quarter Horse racing in the mid-seventies would remember the hoofed freight train named Head Pin.

Head Pin was instantly recognizable. Raw-boned and on the hammer-headed side, by industry standards, he wasn’t the most beautiful horse to step into a starting gate. But when that gate opened, and Head Pin boiled out of there, he was breathtaking in all his shimmering white glory.

I have a stack of Head Pin win pictures with Jim Riley (my late husband) aboard. Head Pin dominated at distances of 350 yards, 400 yards, 440 yards and set a new track record at 870 yards.

Now, to the story. While I have many stories starring Head Pin, one stands out. Head Pin was owned by Everett Boothe and trained by Ron Hawkins. Ron and his wife Rexanne—good people, full stop. I’ll go into how special they were in another episode. However, this story is about Head Pin and the night he ran in a named race, going 440 yards at Los Alamitos.

Following several easy victories in 1978, it was decided to send

Head Pin to Los Alamitos to try on arguably stronger competition. Separating the winning combination of Ron and Head Pin was hard, but it had to be done.

Though there was a deeply talented pool of jockeys to choose from at Los Alamitos, it was never in question that Jim would be flown down to ride Head Pin. The massive white ghost was a bully, plain and simple. He intimidated riders, pony people, and starters; it was just who he was. Head Pin could pout. He could get mad. Head Pin could buck; he’d done it backtracking; he’d even bucked once during the race, and still, he won. But he didn’t intimidate Jim. Over the years, they’d earned a hard-won respect for each other.

Everett hired a pilot and his six-passenger twin-prop Cessna to take Everett, Ron, Rexanne, me, and Jim down to Los Al on race day. I don’t recall where we landed other than it was a tiny airport with a two-story control tower. The pilot parked the plane himself, and we piled off and headed for a chain-link gate next to the tower, where a limo waited.

We were excited and anxious. This race would be more challenging than previous races, and we knew from experience how our boy, Head Pin, could be. If he decided to pout, buck, or do any of the other things he was known for and got himself left when the gate opened, he wouldn’t be able to come from behind against this type of competition.

I don’t recall what the odds were on Head Pin, but we were all betting at the fifty-dollar window with both hands.

When “they’re all in” was announced, our group stood breathless, eyes glued to post five. The big white horse looked too large for the enclosure, and then they were off. You only need to look at the winning photo to see how easily he won and how he pricked his ears to understand the celebration started for us when the gate opened. Because when Head Pin left the gate in front, you could start counting your winnings. And did we ever.

Crowded around the fifty-dollar window, confusion reigned supreme—we may have started the celebration at the bar before we headed to the window with our winning tickets. Who bet what, and how much? What was the exacta going to pay? Pulling tickets from various pockets. Finding another pocket with more tickets until the cashier finally commented. “For people who don’t know what they’re doing, you sure know how to make money.”

While our celebration may have been enthusiastic, it stood us in good stead when we arrived back at the airport and found the gates locked. Undeterred, we used a garbage can, placed a jacket over the razor wire, and scaled the fence below the control tower. Remember, it was 1978. Can you imagine if we had tried something like that today?

Here are a couple of other pictures of Head Pin winning. I don’t recall how he ended his career; it was long ago. However, I’ll never forget the wonder that was Head Pin

Thank you for taking the time to visit my website. I hope you enjoyed one of my memories of Head Pin. Feel free to ask if you have a question about the Triple Crown of Thoroughbred horseracing or might be interested in any aspect of writing. Or . . . do you have a good story that you would like to share? I won’t sell or use your contact information.

 

The post October 4, 2024 Stories from the Backside appeared first on Shelley Lee Riley.

This is a winner circle picture from a long time ago. It was early in my training career in the year 1980. If you look closely at the winner circle picture, you’ll find that the only one smiling was Tom Chapman, who had ridden Classy Alta to an easy win. There’s a reason for the somber faces: Classy had just been claimed from us for $6,500.

The man standing next to me is Newel Taylor, a good friend and the reason that we had claimed the filly. When we claimed her, she was as high-strung as they come. Very thin, so thin that after we bathed her, I couldn’t use a sweat scraper; her ribs were far too prominent.

It didn’t take long to understand why she was the way she was. A timid eater, Classy never finished her grain and spent most of her time walking her stall rather than resting or eating. The first time we took her to the track, she grabbed the bit and ran off as soon as she stepped on the track. She was uncontrollable.

Oh boy, what had we gotten ourselves into? Our friend and client, Newell, had big plans for Classy Alta.

Lucky for all concerned, especially Classy, we were stabled at Cal-Expo in Sacramento. There couldn’t have been a better place to start this mare from scratch. And as one of the best hands around, Jim Riley (my husband) did just that.

It took time, but when he was done with Classy Alta, she’d learned to relax on the track and at the barn. She was no longer frantic and out of control. She became an ideal racehorse. Classy Alta blossomed, cleaning up her feed, and could often be found stretched out in her stall taking a nap.

Now, the exact timeline of that unfortunate win circle picture is lost in the far reaches of my memory. What I do remember is how I begged Newell not to run her in a $6,500 claiming race. He wanted to make her eligible for starter allowance route races. I told him she would be claimed and multiple claims would be dropped. And by the look on my face, you can tell that I was proven right. I cried, and to this day, I still regret that day.

We all know that the racetrack is very competitive, and while you make lifelong friends, it can also be dog-eat-dog, sometimes even cruel. I distinctly remember crossing through the barn area on foot two weeks later after the trainer who claimed Classy had jumped her from $6,500 to allowance, and she’d run a big second. That trainer and his friends slowed down to literally point and laugh. That hurt. If they had come to me, I would have congratulated them.

I never forgot Classy Alta. I even named a filly after her. Some of you may remember her—Miss Classy Ana. The two mares were very similar in personality but so different in running style. Classy Alta, a route horse. Miss Classy Ana, pure speed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thank you for taking the time to stop by to read ‘My Thoughts.’ Get in touch, and I will respond. I will never sell your information.

Take care,

Shelley Lee Riley

 

The post June 20, 2024 Stories from the Backside appeared first on Shelley Lee Riley.

With so many posts on Facebook lamenting the end of an era after the closing of Golden Gate Fields, I was feeling nostalgic. Next thing I know, I’m on the stepladder pulling a trunk full of old Win pictures from storage. You may ask, what do I call old? Would fifty years plus surprise you? There are pictures from all over the place. California, both North and South, the California Fairs, West Virginia, Kentucky, Virginia, and New York. From time to time, I’ll be sharing some of these here, especially the ones that bring back strong memories that include a remarkable story that I can share with you.

However, today’s entry will be about the first picture I came across at the top of the stack; while not the oldest, it showcases one of the most entertaining people I have ever met—Dick Doyle.

Tall, by anyone’s standards, and made taller by his ever-present cowboy hat—truthfully, I don’t recall ever seeing him without one—but on occasion, he would tip it back, and you would get a brief glimpse of the truly remarkable farmer’s tan he sported.

Dick was burly, but then you had to be if you were going to wrestle a steer or two, and that was something he’d done when he was younger. I want to say he was also a team roper, but it’s been so long that I can’t be sure. His son, Casey Doyle, would be able to answer that question, but like so many of those from my past, we’ve lost touch.

Still, one thing is for sure, Dick Doyle was the real deal. Cowboy turned horse trainer—a proper hand, as we used to say. But handling livestock came as natural to him as taking his next breath.

Gregarious by nature, Dick was a font of incredible stories. He shared one with me only a short time before he passed to use it as a basis for a novel. It was a true story about his father, a young man during the Dust Bowl era, and a cracking good story that I will write someday. In truth, it practically writes itself. The story involves three teenage boys, horse rustling, Texas Rangers, Mexican Federales, and a little homeless dog. I can’t begin to describe it here without writing the entire story.

Dick didn’t just tell you stories; he got you involved in making some of your own. One such adventure ended up with us hightailing it from the sight of—what was called in those days—a Mexican Tanforan. We’re talking match racing situated in an open field with a full-scale fiesta on the side. I wrote about that particular adventure, which I included in my short story book, For Want of a Horse. In truth, I could fill a book with those outrageous adventures Dick Doyle sparked.

That brings me to today’s win picture. It’s from August 15, 1978, and the race occurred at the Stockton Fair. Vain Muffin wasn’t very big, but she could run. I also found a second photo of the same race that shows the last jump before the wire.

You’ll note that the jockey, Jim Riley, has a significant hold on his mount, his stick uncocked. He’s watching the horse that ran second to ensure he’s got it outrun. Dick didn’t like his horses winning by a large margin. Why is that? He liked to win, that’s why. And so, he ran them where they would do just that—win. If they won by a large margin in a challenging field of claimers, he’d have to worry about them getting claimed out of their next race, even on a price rise.

I hope you enjoyed my reminiscing about just one of the many remarkable people I have had the good fortune to have met.

What’s in store for next week? Not sure yet. I’m still digging through a lot of pictures. Check back. Also, if you follow me on Facebook, I will always post when I have a new entry for Stories from the Backside. Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions or just want to reminisce. I will never sell or share your information.

The post June 13, 2024 Stories from the Backside appeared first on Shelley Lee Riley.

Allow me to indulge in a bit of shameless self-promotion. With the overwhelming support I’ve received for my short stories, I’m excited to offer you a glimpse into the world of my latest novel, the intriguingly titled Labyrinth of Ruin.

As the saying goes, ‘Write what you know.’ This advice resonated with me, and I decided to infuse my novel with the authenticity of my personal experiences. Having dedicated over two decades to the horseracing industry, starting from the humblest of beginnings and culminating in the prestigious Kentucky Derby and the Triple Crown, I’ve genuinely earned my stripes.

With that in mind, I combined my love of horses with my love of fantasy. It seemed simple: let the horses take to the sky and spread their wings. Who remembers Pegasus? Yep, no. Too cliched for my liking. As an avid fan of J.R.R. Tolkien, and having read The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings more than once, and we don’t have time to talk about how much I love the movies, I decided on dragons as a theme. This is where my real-world experience in bringing up young horses from pasture to racetrack came into play. Throw in overlooked and marginalized, along with a bit of ridicule, and I could write about that, too.

Now, for a look into the world of pari-mutuel dragon raging, here’s a small excerpt from Labyrinth of Ruin. I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Labyrinth of Ruin

NO ONE PAID JACKSON ANY MIND as he wound his way to the back of the encampment. He didn’t know how he knew where he needed to go. Jackson didn’t question it. He just knew it was where he had to go.

He stopped before an older, barrel-shaped caravan, the type commonly seen hitched to a pair of the distinctive black and white Irish Cobs that the Travellers preferred. Jackson didn’t see the horses around, but he heard a commotion coming from the far side of the caravan.

What he found when he rounded the end of the wagon stopped him in his tracks. The children he’d seen earlier playing with wooden swords had cornered a strange-looking creature. Shrieking with laughter, they took turns poking the cowering animal with their sharpened sticks.

“Hey. What’s going on?” Jackson called out. The kids stopped and turned on him.

“None of your business, Towny.” The apparent leader of the pack stepped up to confront Jackson, eyeing him up and down. “What makes you think you can sashay in here . . .” The sneer on the boy’s face was far from friendly. “Sportin’ them fancy, girly boots?” The bully pushed further into Jackson’s personal space.

Even though he should’ve considered protecting himself, Jackson couldn’t take his eyes off the dark creature huddled against the spokes of one of the wagon’s wheels.

“What’ve you got there?” Jackson ignored the boy’s insults and pointed toward the creature.

“Like I said, it ain’t none of your business.” Several inches taller than Jackson, the kid shoved him. “We don’t like no Townies in our camp. You best get on home to your mommy, Girly Boy.”

“Not until you tell me what you lot are tormenting.” Jackson clenched his fists.

The boy raised his sword.

“Stop,” a gruff voice announced the arrival of an adult. “What do you think you’re doing, Toby? We don’t start no trouble with Townies. You know better.”

“He,” Toby waved his sword in Jackson’s face, “just waltzed in like he owned the place and started interfering in our business.”

“Is that so?” Big and swarthy, the man put his hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “What do you want, boy?”

“Him.” Jackson pointed toward the creature.

“Him?” The man wasn’t just big; he was massive and didn’t look to be the forgiving type. But Jackson was beyond caring.

“Yes, I want him. How much?”

“How much you got?”

Jackson pulled a crumpled five-pound note from his pocket.

“That ain’t gonna buy you no dragon.”

~~~

I hope you enjoyed this excerpt from Labyrinth of Ruin. It is available on Amazon in hardcover, paperback, and ebook. If you have Kindle Unlimited, you can read it as part of your subscription.

Thank you so much for visiting my site. I know your time is valuable. Feel free to contact me by clicking on ‘Ask Shelley.’ I will not sell or use your information.

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The post June 6, 2024 Labyrinth of Ruin appeared first on Shelley Lee Riley.

Thank you for reading part one of Tyler’s Folly from the Stories from the Backside. Here’s part two. Race day has arrived. What’s in store for Emma?

Tyler’s Folly – Part Two

All the paddock schooling Tyler had done with Folly seemed to have paid off. While the valet helped Emma saddle the colt for the Futurity, the ordinarily fractious horse stood quiet and alert. However, on the track next to the lead pony, Folly made up for his previous good behavior with an embarrassing display of bad manners.

Worse, she could see Tyler’s Folly was already hot as the horses approached the starting gate, his shiny coat dulled with sweat. Any spark of hope for winning that may have lingered in her heart was extinguished as she acknowledged and accepted that at least this disaster would soon be over.

Behind the gate, Folly took his appalling attitude to another level. He refused to enter the gate, alternating between rearing and kicking at the assistant starters. Emma watched in horror as a man slipped a blindfold over the colt’s head to gain enough control to get him loaded.

How could Tyler have been so wrong about this horse? Her thoughts whirled as she watched the colt Tyler had loved so much behave more like a cheap claimer than a Futurity contender.

The announcer’s voice rang out. “They’re all in.”

The last tailgate latched, and the horses were under the starter’s orders. Emma cringed as she watched Folly wallowing and lifting in his assigned stall. When the gate sprang open, she fully expected to see him in last place as the rest of the field left there running. But that’s not what happened. Tyler’s Folly burst out of the gate in front and stayed there.

Emma’s heart pounded harder with each furlong that passed under the hooves of the magical colt. Tyler’s colt ran like an experienced racehorse who knew how to win.

Hours later, and with all the hype that accompanied winning a race of that caliber behind her. Along with the fading memory of a winner’s circle surrounded by all the previous doubters now professing they’d always been believers, Emma stood alone in the shedrow. She watched the colt her husband had gambled on happily pull bits of Timothy from his hay bag.

Thoughts on Tyler, Emma reached a tentative hand to pet the colt’s keen head. Instead of nipping at her, Folly turned into her touch and rested his head on her shoulder. Her arms went around his neck, and she quietly sobbed against the horse’s warmth.

In the tack room, the phone rang. Emma felt sure it would be the first of many offers to purchase Tyler’s promising two-year-old.

Slowly, she stepped back, smiled, and gently straightened the colt’s forelock.

“I love you, Tyler.”

~~~

Thanks again for trusting me with your time. Every minute counts in my life, and I am sure it is the same for you. Feel free to comment, share your own stories, and come back next week. I’m still trying to figure out what I’ll be thinking about, but I hope it’s entertaining. Take care, Shelley

 

The post May 31, 2024 Stories from the Backside – Part 2 appeared first on Shelley Lee Riley.